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Je
At least on that front, there was a glimmer of hope. Dylan had gotten a call that morning from the administrator at Sister Margaret Howland’s retirement home in Gloucester. The elderly nun had been told about Dylan’s request for a visit, and she was excited for a little company and conversation.
Je
Now, as the four women drove into Gloucester in a black Rover from the Order’s fleet, all they had to hope for was a few moments of mental clarity from the aging sister.
Even Lucan had agreed that if they could get just so much as one female’s name, it would make the entire mission worthwhile.
Brock hadn’t been thrilled about the prospect of Je
He cared about her, and she had to admit, it felt very good to know that she had someone guarding her back. More than that, she believed Brock was a man who would guard her heart every bit as carefully as he did her safety and well-being.
She hoped he would, because over the past few days—and incredible nights—she had laid her heart openly in his hands.
“Here we are,” Dylan said from the front passenger seat of the Rover as Renata turned into the retirement home driveway. “The administrator told me that Sister Margaret takes her afternoon tea around this time in the library. She said we could just go on in.”
“There it is.” Alex pointed toward a bronze sign sticking out of a snowbank in front of a modest little clapboard cottage.
Renata parked in the half-empty lot and killed the engine. “Here goes nothing, eh? Je
She pivoted to pull the collection of file folders and notepads out of the cargo area, then climbed out of the vehicle with her friends.
As Je
Alex paused next to her. “What’s wrong?”
“All my research the past few months is coming down to this moment. If this turns out to be a dead end, you guys, then I don’t have a clue where to begin to looking next.”
“Relax,” Renata said, taking Dylan’s shoulders in a sisterly hold. “You’ve been busting your ass on this investigation. We wouldn’t even be this far without you. You and Claire both.”
Dylan nodded, although not quite buoyed by the pep talk. “We just really need a decent lead. I don’t think I could handle it if we end up back at square one.”
“If we have to start all over,” Je
Renata smiled, her pale green eyes twinkling as she buttoned up her leather duster to conceal the blades and gun belt that studded her fatigues-clad hips. “Come on. Let’s go have tea with the nice old ladies.”
Je
Everything about her felt different now.
She was different, and she liked the person she was becoming.
More important, she was learning to forgive the person she’d been in Alaska.
She’d left a part of herself back in Harmony, a part she could never get back, but as she stepped into the warm cottage library with Renata and Dylan and Alex, she couldn’t imagine returning to the woman she’d been before. She had friends here now, and important work that needed to be done.
Best of all, she had Brock.
It was that thought that made her smile a little brighter as Dylan brought them over to a frail elderly woman who sat quietly on a rose-patterned sofa near the library’s fireplace. Cloudy blue eyes blinked a couple of times from beneath a fluffy crown of white curly hair. Je
“Sister Margaret?” Dylan said, holding out her hand. “I’m Sharon Alexander’s daughter, Dylan. And these are my friends.”
“Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed the sweet old nun. “They told me I was having company for tea today. Please, sit down, girls. I so rarely have guests.”
Dylan took a seat on the sofa next to the sister. Je
Never mind that the only people in the room besides the four of them and Sister Margaret were a couple of cotton-topped ladies hobbling behind metal walkers and wearing emergency call necklaces along with their rosary beads.
Je
“Are you sure you don’t remember any of these girls being clients of the shelter?” Dylan slid a couple more sketches in front of the old woman. The sister peered at the hand-rendered faces, but there was no glint of recognition in the kind blue eyes. “Please try, Sister Margaret. Anything you recall could be very helpful to us.”
“I am sorry, my dear. I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip. “But then, I never was any good with names and faces. God saw fit to give me enough other blessings, I suppose.” Je
“Oh, my word,” the sister blurted, putting her cup back down on the saucer. “What a terrible hostess I am! I forgot to make you girls some tea.”
Dylan reached for her tote bag. “It’s not necessary. We shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”
“Nonsense. You came for tea.”
As she got up from the sofa and shuffled into the cottage’s little kitchenette, Dylan sent an apologetic look at Je
After a few minutes, Sister Margaret’s reedy voice filtered out to them. “Was Sister Grace able to help you at all, dear?”
Dylan glanced up, frowning. “Sister Grace?”
“Yes. Sister Grace Gilhooley. She and I volunteered at the shelter together. We both were part of the same convent here in Boston.”
“Holy shit,” Dylan mouthed silently, excitement glittering in her eyes. She got up off the sofa and walked into the kitchenette. “I would love to talk to Sister Grace. You don’t happen to know how we can find her, do you?”
Sister Margaret nodded proudly. “Why, of course, I do. She lives not even five minutes from here, along the coast. Her father was a sea captain. Or a fisherman. Well, I don’t quite recall, to tell you the truth.”
“That’s okay,” Dylan said. “Can you give us her phone number or address, so we can contact her?”